


trouble will find me

by stardustinthesky



Category: Longmire (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-26
Updated: 2018-04-26
Packaged: 2019-04-28 03:43:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14440710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardustinthesky/pseuds/stardustinthesky
Summary: Truth is, he doesn't think Martha would have liked her. // Post finale.





	trouble will find me

**Author's Note:**

> Title stolen from "Sea of Love" by The National. Not beta'd - all mistakes are mine.

It's funny, what life decides to throw at you.

 

It takes many different forms; the murder of a wife who was being cured from cancer, a new deputy who takes it upon herself not to let him drown in grief.

 

He wonders how his life would be now if Martha hadn't died.

 

(Vic would not be sharing his bed, for one.

 

He's not sure how he feels about that.)

 

-

 

The hardships of life have softened her in a way, or maybe he's lucky enough that she keeps telling him about her fears, and her hopes, even after she slowly pulls herself back together.

 

But she's still abrasive in a way Martha never was; a sharp tongue dripping with sarcasm and a tendency to follow head first into whatever trouble _he_ can find.

 

(he won't complain about the latter too much though, especially since that saved his life a couple of times.)

 

Truth is, he doesn't think Martha would have liked her.

 

-

 

"So, you and Vic?" Cady asks while they're having lunch at the Busy Bee. The gold star on her shirt is brand new, shining in the golden hues of late July. Has he ever looked that young when he became sheriff himself?

 

"Yep," seems the only reasonable answer; they never really broached the subject until now. How is a father supposed to tell his only daughter that he is dating a woman who's almost 20 years younger than him?

 

She watches him carefully before sliding her hand in his much bigger one. "And… are you happy?"

 

 _Yep_ almost rolls off his tongue; monosyllabic speech has been a part of him as long as he can remember. (Henry has sure been complaining about his short answers for a couple of decades.)

 

But this time, the way to describe the feeling of waking up to the sight of Vic Moretti every morning deserves more than a three-letter, one-syllable response. "The happiest I've been in a long time, Punk," and means every single word.

 

She looks so much like her mother when she smiles. "Good, then."

 

-

 

"You never talk about her," she says around a mouthful of scrambled eggs and bacon. "I don't even know what she was like."

 

There's nothing malicious in her tone, just genuine wonder about the woman he loved before her.

 

 _You're nothing like her_ , he thinks and he's not even sure what it really means. But that's the thing, isn't? He's never tried to replace his wife.

 

He just fell in love with another woman.

 

-

 

"I never thought I would see the day." When he looks at his best friend questioningly, Henry nods toward the small object in Walt's hand. "That you are now the proud owner of a cellphone."

 

Walt ignores Henry's smirk. "Vic doesn't worry so much now that I have it."

 

Henry hums a noncommital answer. "You must really love her."

 

The wind carries Walt's ensuing silence; swirls the untold thoughts into the air and in between tall strands of grass before being lost to the blue skies overhead.

 

"You _are_ allowed to love her, Walt," his friend reassures him.

 

Oh, he loves her; has loved her, and will love her. This thought used to terrify him; how could he ever love someone else other than Martha? Now he can't imagine not having Vic by his side.

 

He sighs. "I know. And I do. It's just—uh—I don't think Martha would have liked her."

 

Henry looks at him curiously. "Why is that?"

 

He doesn't answer; he's not sure he likes what it implies.

 

-

 

She snuggles against him on the porch when the evenings start getting chilly, her hands wrapped around a warm mug of coffee and the smell of her shampoo tickling his nose.

 

He listens to Vic's updates on how well and easily Cady has slipped into her role as sheriff, how she's glad someone else has to deal with the 'bullshit' bureaucracy that comes with the position and how she probably would have punched the Mayor in the face by now.

 

He laughs at the mental image.

 

This is something he gets accustomed to fast, something that he'd never really taken the time to do before with Martha. Life settles to a slower routine now that he's retired; he can finally focus on working on his cabin, all the things he'd planned having been left up in the air years ago finally coming to fruition. Vic comes home at the end of the day and he welcomes her with a kiss.

 

"I hated it her when I first moved here, you know," she tells him in the twilight. She's a shadow against the purple sky, so he twines his fingers with hers, anchoring him to her. "Now I can't see myself anywhere else."

 

His heart swells in his chest; no, Martha probably wouldn't have liked Vic Moretti, because he would have loved her anyway.

 

God, he would have.

 

 

—end.


End file.
